Pangs of Pleasure
by Kuhamasisha021
Summary: -The Making of a Phandom- The first time is always the first time, yet many are too impatient, they delve straight into the action and waste their time describing the hot scorching details, whilst forgetting that even foreplay can be as much of a turn on as all that follows it. This is a mere test, feel free to read and review; I promise what follows won't be as virginal -PHAN-
1. Chapter 1

His teeth gently nibbled at my lower lip. Chapped as they were, I couldn't help but wince. 'Am I hurting you?' he asked. I looked at him, expecting him to be staring at me, scrutinizing me even, him being usually so thoughtful, so caring.

But his eyes were closed, he had moved back, just a little bit, giving us space, a moment to breathe. But his eyes were still closed, his hands still held my cheeks, the warmth of my skin radiating into his, like two never ending sources of heat trying desperately to keep each other alive. He didn't want to open his eyes; why would he? This was our moment, our perfect moment, he didn't want to open his eyes and make it all so real, so devastatingly real, a reality which would ultimately scare him.

It had been an impulsive gesture, him reaching out for me and inserting his tongue inside my mouth. He was usually so quiet, again so caring – yet his tongue sought dominance, causing my own tongue to cower in submission. His hands were urgent as he roughly pawed me all over, in all the right places, and his mere fondle at my now half-hardened member had caused me to gasp and open my eyes. Ever the virgin, he had teased, chuckling, the guttural sound making me harden all the more. We both knew it wasn't true, and yet, it strangely felt like it was my first time all over again.

My first time had admittedly been a mess. She had been the dominant type, she knew what she wanted, how she wanted it. There was no fooling around, she wanted it to be over and done with. Needless to say, I had felt oh so awkward, and insecure. I hadn't pleased her that time, and of course, she never called me back. Not that I had minded at the time, and I never did give it much thought, until now.

I couldn't help but comparing the two episodes. This time was so surreal though, I couldn't even manage to draw parallels between them two. Sure, I felt like a virgin, getting aroused by a mere touch, a mere breathe of hot air caressing my bare neck. But I wasn't afraid, I wasn't feeling insecure. I felt strangely at awe at what was happening, all so quickly, so impulsively, and I marvelled at myself, how I had instinctively grabbed hold of his sleek black hair, twisting it in my fists, and bucking my hips once he began moaning my name.

He opened his eyes, and I stared into his icy blue eyes, full of lust and dark raging hunger. I had never seen him like this. I was usually the strong one, the one that taunted him, the controlling one. Now I was simply a puppet in his hands, for him to toy with.

He stared back at me, but he didn't shy away. He was stronger than I ever thought he could be. Did he want this? Had he thought about this? As I breathed in and out, heavily, and looked at him through half-lidded eyes, I admitted to myself that I had never actually thought about us two being together. Sex? Sure, no homophobia from my part. Everyone's bi curious after all. But me and him? Like this? Had he actually thought about it so much as to lose control completely in one single moment of hot seething passion? Maybe all those questions, the phandom, the pictures, the gifs, they had gotten through to him. Who wouldn't be brainwashed by all that? I knew at that moment, brainwashed or not, I didn't give a fuck.

'What now?' I asked, cringing when my voice cracked. I was so turned on, I was forgetting how to breathe. He stared back at me, emotionless, motionless even, yet his hands, his lovely warm hands, they felt so good on my cheeks, yet my body craved for his touch.

Then he leaned in, slowly, never breaking eye contact. He reached for my ear lobe, bit into it, slowly, and pulled, whilst breathing in my ear. I hissed, closing my eyes, hating yet loving the way he was teasing me. I felt my nipples harden, and my legs squeezed together, and my thighs crushed against each other, pangs of pleasure shooting up my abdomen, and the tell tale goosebumps wanting me to cry out for him, to tell him to take me there and then, and fuck me like his life depended on it.

And as though he was hearing my silent prayer, his hand left my cheek, blazing red and screaming at the lack of contact. And his hand went down, his fingers grazing my stomach and my lower belly, and with one expert move, he unbuttoned my jeans and slid open the fly. And the cool air felt so good between my legs, and the lessened pressure felt so so good.

And as his fingers released me from my boxers, and enclosed me, I squeezed my eyes shut, savouring the unfurling sensation in my belly and resisting the urge to thrust my hips upward, towards him, towards his glory. And I prayed to heaven, to Buddha and to any saint imaginary or otherwise that our phones wouldn't ring, as my throbbing member pulsed into his hand, then into his tiny, scalding hot mouth, tongue licking at the shaft, as I cried out his name.


	2. Chapter 2

'OH MY FUCKING –' I bolted up, gasping for breath. I was drenched in sweat, my hair was plastered to my forehead and the duvet cover felt so heavy on my feet. I was sitting upright, stiff, staring at my surroundings, wide-eyed. 'Oh my god it was just a dream,' I let out a sigh of relief, and covered my face with both hands, and breathed in deeply, still shaking, trying to clear the turbulence in my mind.

It was still early, 9am, considering I had slept at 4.30 that night. I felt so dizzy, it was like waking up to someone banging pots and firing fireworks right next to you – someone's stupid idea of a prank or a joke. Only I actually did seem to be hearing an incessant beating, come to think of it. Then I realized it was someone banging at my bedroom door.

'Daaaaaaan, let me in!' Phil whined, never pausing the infernal pounding of his fist. _Phil_, my stomach lurched. I couldn't believe I had had a dream about him, about us like that, _again_ – it was so real this time, I could almost smell the sex in the air from where I was sitting.

'What?' I shouted, irritated. I caught myself wishing I was still asleep, actually dreaming about what would have probably followed. _Am I out of it?_ I thought to myself as I pulled back the duvet cover to get out of bed, put my boxers on and open the door for Phil, who was still shouting incoherent stuff at me from the other side of the door.

'We've got to meet PJ in an hour, we need to go soon!' his muffled voice exclaimed, finally understanding what he was babbling about, and he was still pounding at my door. I furiously scratched my head with one hand, trying to keep my anger in check – after all, it was still 9am – and swung my legs to the side of the bed to stand up. And it was then that I noticed the erect Tower of Pisa just staring at me in the face, a taunting reminder of what I had been through just a few moments back.

And Phil swung open the door and entered my bedroom.

'Don't you know when people knock –'

'GET THE FUCK OUT!' I yelled, throwing myself back on the bed and covering up my nudity, blushing a furious shade of red, wanting to die. Phil just stood there, gaping – whether he was shocked at my yelling at him or at my obvious lack of attire, I didn't know, and at point, I didn't really care. 'WELL?' I shouted again, staring at him with eyebrows raised when I saw that he hadn't actually moved. He looked so surprised, so dumbfounded, he didn't even react. Then he turned a deep shade of red, looked down at his feet in embarrassment, mumbled an apology and dashed out of the bedroom, in his hurry forgetting to close the door behind him.

I sighed and grabbed a fistful of the duvet cover and put it in my mouth, and screamed. How many times did I have to tell him not to barge into my room like he owned the place? How many times did I have to tell him that knocking and not answering the door _didn't necessarily mean_ yeah-Goldilocks-the-bears-are-not-here-yet-just-open-the-_fucking_-door-and-go-straight-in. I was so pissed, like I had no idea where all the anger was coming from.

I wasn't actually angry, I was mortified rather. He had seen me naked before, and to think that he never got boners in the morning would be a laughing matter, a joke to taunt him with at a future date. But the dream had left me flustered – it had felt so _real_, and to see him before me, letting him seeing me in such a vulnerable state. I was still feeling his hot mouth around me, for fuck's sake!

I let out a shuddered breath and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't know what the dream was all about, I didn't even want to know. Probably scrolling through the phan tag on tumblr till 4am didn't really help with my sanity. And seeing him there, a few steps away from where he had been a few moments before, didn't help either. _You'd rather have him here in bed with you, you sick bastard,_ my brain taunted me, sending me screenshots of what I had lived through during that crazy hour. 'Dan, you're such a _wuss_,' I said, out loud, trying to clear my head of all those vile thoughts. I ran a hand over my moist face, threw the pillow across the room, and sighed heavily. _This was going to be a long day_, I thought bitterly, getting out of bed, deciding that it was probably best to just jerk myself off to rid myself of that blasted boner.


	3. Chapter 3

It was dark by the time we were back – shocker, considering it's London. Honestly, though, I loved the city… It was different from Manchester, in ways I couldn't even begin to explain. When we'd first moved here, right away, I was at ease with myself, considering how much self doubt and anxiety had been eating away at my insides at the time. Not that I didn't get anxiety attacks any more, or existential crises for that matter; yet, there was something about London, about its pollution, dark days, bustling streets, culture identity, that just suited me. It really felt like home.

London or no London, today was a complete mess though. PJ knew something was up – I swear, that guy read minds. Well, that's not actually true, considering he didn't actually guess what was wrong, though he did technically deduce that Phil and I were at loggerheads about something. We barely spoke to each other, at all, not giving each other a mere glance. Needless to say, it was an awkward encounter. By the time PJ left, I was certain he'd wished he never came. What a waste. It'd been ages since we last saw him, especially now that Chris boycotted the internet. It was hard for him to live so far away from us, not really meeting us unless duty called. And it had to be ruined because of my stupidity, immaturity, stupid _stupid stupid __**stupid**__**stu**__-_

"Er, Dan? Are you OK?" I opened my eyes and realized I had been slowly banging my forehead against the glass door. I shook my head and grinned – but he knew the grin was merely a force of habit; the smile didn't match the discomfort clearly showing in my eyes.

He was seated at the kitchen table, hands nervously clutching his favourite mug. He was looking at me with this mixture of concern and apprehension. This wasn't fair for him, I knew I had to do something about it. After all, what had happened this morning could have happened to anyone – seriously, a little bit of anatomy never hurt anyone, surely. I had just been caught unawares, that's all, no need to feel so flustered about it. _Dan, you're such a crybaby_. Indeed I was, giving too much importance to one stupid dream. Sure, it was one of many, but _come on Dan, it was just a dream for fuck's sake_. 'Your subconscious is trying to tell you something,' PJ would say, ever the scholar, Mr. Know-It-All, as we all called him, fondly of course.

_Subconscious my ass_… The one logical explanation for all that had happened the previous night: **I was horny**. There, I admitted it, I was so horny. A non-dating Dan ain't a funny Dan, my brother would say, that little scum. It'd been 3 months since my last date, and I hadn't met an interesting girl since. _Just one tweet and girls would be lining up,_ I smiled sarcastically to myself. As much as I loved my fans, I wouldn't want to spend my time taping my date's mouth with duct tape due to her incessant screaming. _Bitter much?_ Yeah, I was extremely bitter. _Making up excuses? _ I didn't want to think about that. Thanks, but no thanks, brain.

"Sorry for how I acted this morning," I said shyly, playfully hitting Phil on his shoulder with my fist. He looked up at me, his eyes shining, an apologetic smile forming on his mouth.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. You always tell me to knock and wait, never to barge in, sorry for invading your privacy again."

"Hey, what would I tweet about if you never ever messed up? You make life way more interesting round here, let me tell you that," I smiled ruefully, ruffling his hair then turning my back on him to make myself a cup of steaming hot chocolate, pretending like everything was OK, like things could go back to normal, ever so easily, just like that. Until -

"So, who were you dreaming about?"

I froze, biting my tongue, trying to stop the blush from creeping up from the back of my neck onto my ears and face. "What?" I asked, feigning ignorance, not looking at him, not facing him.

"Yeah, although I didn't appreciate seeing you like that up close, I couldn't help but notice a certain flush on your face…" _Yeah right, you had me in front of you and __**that's**_ _what you notice? You bastard._

"Um… right…"

"Who was it, then?" His tone was invasive, something I was labeling as being extremely annoying, at least at that particular point in time.

"Um… Christine." I was still refusing to look at him, slowly pouring the steaming water in my cup, watching the dark cocoa slowly melt as it mixed in with the pure transparent liquid. The steam was swirling up and up, and I closed my eyes and inhaled it slowly, hoping it would help me relax my tense muscles. I was feeling sore all over.

"The _salesgirl_ Christine?" Phil gasped. "You started dating her? And you never told me?" I chose not to answer, and starting to sip at my hot chocolate, grimacing when the brown liquid scalded my tongue. "Oh well," Phil continued, breaking the awkward silence, "Now you've got to introduce us properly. It's only proper, Dan! Let's double date this Sunday, go to the cinema or something."

Then I spun round, causing my beverage to slosh at the rim of my mug.

"Double _what_?" It was my turn to gasp. I stared at him open mouthed, not sure how to react.

"What? You're not the only one who can keep secrets, you know!" He said indignantly, staring at me, bewildered. He had this defensive look on him, I hated it.

"It's just… that was unexpected," I said, trying hard to say something coherent, something that would actually make sense. "You never mentioned any girls, that's all. Yeah, I know," I said quickly, raising my hand to stop Phil who was about to retort, "I never mentioned anything either. I apologize." I stared at my mug for a couple of seconds, then sipped at it, not really looking at him. "So…" I continued slowly, testily, "Who is she?"

"Natasha, I met her a few weeks ago at Dean's party. You were flirting with that redhead in the corner, I don't think you actually remember Nat. I didn't even get to introduce you two."

"Oh," was all I could say. I risked a glance at him – he looked… smug. Like it was the best thing that had happened to him since the year started, like it was this big secret he had managed to keep hidden for so long and had managed to surprise me with it. _Surprise, Dan? Really? Is that how you want to put it?_ "Shut up," I mumbled, shaking my head at Phil when he threw me a questioning look. Honestly though, this was getting out of hand.

"So… are we going on a date or what?" He sounded so enthusiastic about it, even his cheeks were red. After the horrible way I had treated him today, how could I say no to him? He squealed when I nodded, jumped round the table and hugged me furiously, causing me to spill some hot chocolate on the floor and to protest loudly, then ran towards his room to 'tell Nat about it'.

"Pxt, Natasha," I muttered, grabbing the sink cloth and bending down to clean the spills. "Scarlett is Natasha, the Black Widow is _fucking_ Natasha. If this girl is no Scarlett, _ain't nobody got time for that_. If she's no Scarlett, she's no Natasha. She'll better be worth the time I'll be wasting.'

Then it hit me. And then I froze. And I stared wide eyed into the nothingness. And I facepalmed myself.

I, Dan Howell, had to ask a girl out on a date. And not just any girl. **Christine**.

The horror. The sheer horror of it all.


End file.
